


My Eyes Are Up Here

by Birdgirl



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bloodplay, Blue Balls, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Gotta love their hate, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, OTP Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1731893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdgirl/pseuds/Birdgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was supposed to be the bitter end of a sloppy hate-makeout of epic proportions, one with cuts and bruises and probably some aggressive sexy times.<br/>Instead, you can't stop laughing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Eyes Are Up Here

**Author's Note:**

> First time I've written for my OTP, and frankly, I find it ridiculous.  
> I ship these two black as the pot and kettle, and I guess red is cute but I looooooove their hate. I always thought kismesis was such a great, complex relationship. They don't just hate-and-fuck, they hate and are so devoted to doing so that they also act as supports for each other and... just...  
> You probably have no interest in this comment but it made me feel better- excuse a guy and his OTP feels, if you please.  
> And hope you like it!

Being Eridan Ampora's kismesis was the best bad decision you ever made. Contrary to what the others expected, you had not, in fact, actually killed each other yet. But the threat was still very real, very exhilarating. Always at each other's throats, with words or stares- or sometimes literally his own fucking seadweller claws, long and black and menacing, raking possessively over your corroded artery, freezing your nerves and your psionic abilities.

And it- the kismesis- never vacillated, even when you did. You were more surprised than anyone that your bipolar tendencies hadn't shoved the purpleblood off, force him to feel condemned pitying your situation, for your plight, like everyone else did. But he didn't- maybe he was too desperate to say anything, or maybe he just liked to watch you squirm. Maybe he really didn't give a fuck about your double mind or your nightmares. And that… that just pissed you right the fuck off in all the right ways.

Because even when you weren't violent- even when you were boring, and unsociable, and pissy, he still stuck by you. Even if it was only to chuck disgustingly pitiful threats and insults in your direction (and that didn't make you pity him, it just ingrained how much of an idiot he was), he was there, and he was fucking annoying. Hours upon hours of his incessant, narcissistic bullshit, nights spent cleaning the prissy purple blood out from under your own nails- it was the most successful relationship you'd ever had, if you were honest. And wasn't that fucking raw.

Sometimes you were violent. Sometimes you ripped at each other's clothes, maybe just sometimes each other. Sometimes he splashed you with water to fizzle your sparks and pounced, and sometimes you threw him against the wall with powerful shocks of electricity.

Other times you just indulged in passionate hate-makeouts, like the one you were in now. You took pride in the fact that his lips were bloodier than yours, and relished in the sickly brown that was created when your blood colors mixed, half the pigment changed and half just swirls of yellow and purple. Your left lense was broken (you just threw the glasses to the side) and your blue eye bruised, and his knuckles cut where he punched you not 2 minutes earlier, his stupid rings just making it worse.

You don't really know where his glasses went, probably fell off somewhere between the portal room and your respiteblock on the concupiscent platform, where you were currently vigorously hate-snogging. It couldn't be called kissing, not really, because it was more open-mouthed and biting than anything else.

Your hands slide apart, one to pull at the back of Eridan's hair and make him grunt in protest, the other making its way under the hem of his shirt. He squeaked as you slowly raked your claw over his side gills, not enough to draw blood but enough to show you could. It just made him bite harder.

You slid your hand up slowly and dug into his sides, just enough to see the pinpricks of purple show before moving on, slowly and excruciating (at least, you hoped). He groaned and scrabbled at your shoulders and back, ripping the shirt without a care in the world, eyes deep purple with a pure and honest rage. Like hating you was the most natural fucking thing in the whole fucking universe.

You could rip apart his shirt, with a snap of your fingers, but you decide not to. It's more amusing to slip your other hand underneath and slide the shirt up his torso, while imagining him asphyxiating in it (You'd never do it, though you might say you would. You'd never really hurt him, because then it wouldn't be fun. What you were doing now, this was fun. This was arousing, and stimulating, and deliciously wrathful. It was consensual as hatred could be, and mutual in the highest sense of the word).

You slip it off and throw it to the side of the platform, resisting the urge to puncture his lip again by sitting back and using your hands to support you. You take a moment to survey your work as you smirk at the panting sea troll above you. His eyes are fierce, but his breath is heavy and his face is blushing purple, up to his fins. Blood from the claw marks over his sides and bite marks on his neck and lips are still coming down in small rivulets of purple. He’s straddled over your left leg, too-tight pants almost painted over his shapely ass, which is currently grinding down back and forth- a buzzing friction that’s doing nothing to calm the writhing hardness you can feel on your hip. Eridan’s chest is heaving, toned muscles rising and falling as he struggles to get enough oxygen using only his land-functioning lungs.

Well, fuck.

You know you’re staring for probably too long of a time, but you don’t feel like stopping. You can tell that he’s getting frustrated by the way his facefins flutter and he frowns ever so slightly. You might have stopped by now, but you’re wondering how annoyed he’ll get if you don’t. He purses his lips after a minute, probably wondering why the hell you haven’t continued.

He’s growing more purple by the minute, and when you lean back onto your elbows to get a better angle, his eyes narrow and he crosses his arms. You continue to stare at his half-nakedness, his thin, yet sturdy structure that practically screams “swimmer’s build”. You let your gaze fall on his neck, his addam’s apple pronounced and bobbing ever so slightly as Eridan tries to resist being affected by your lack of action. You bring your arms forward, putting your forefingers and thumbs together to look like a camera shot, scrutinizing him further, and when you smirk, you watch his patience snap.

“Is there something I can fuckin help you wwith, Sol? Havve you finally just completely lost your fuckin mind? I don’t evven knoww wwhat the fuck you think you’re evven doin right noww.”

You don’t respond, instead turning your camera gaze down to his crotch, shamelessly watching his bulge wriggle against the confines of his pants. You wonder if he’s enjoying this game as much as you are. He probably hates it, the narcissistic fucker.

You don’t look at his face, but in the corner of your eye you can see that his fins are purple now, as well. He looks like he’s about to burst- from confusion, from anger, from frustration. It’s a good look on him, you think, and then he opens his mouth again.

“Sol, you lisping perverted pissblood, my eyes are up here!!!”

You stop your staring to look up at him, a small look of triumph that he got you to tilt your chin a good two inches upward. He looks so incredibly indignant, and at the same time frustrated and desperate. And somewhere, somehow your messed up brains decided this was the absolute funniest fucking thing in the world.

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach as you fall back on the platform, unable to stop. His eyes widen and his jaw sets, and he’s probably really fucking pissed right now, and that’s even funnier. You roll from side to side and he squeaks as your leg rubs right up against him, his purple blush getting possibly even bigger as his indignation rises at least 10 rungs.

This was supposed to be a simple, sloppy-ass hate-makeout of epic proportions, complete with cuts and bruises and possible caliginous sexy times. Instead, you can’t stop laughing, and the more you laugh the madder Eridan gets, and the madder he gets the funnier it is. He starts yelling at you, but there’s no stopping you now.

“Sol! Ughhhh fuck you, this wwas supposed to be a serious fuckin act a caliginous hate an you’re fuckin ruinin it!”

He pouts obscenely, and you just have to laugh more at the pitiful attempt- pitiful only because it’s a horribly futile effort, and not quite pitiful enough for you to do anything but find it more hilarious. It’s a good 5 minutes before you can stop, and in that time he’s not only yelled at you but smacked you a few times- on the arm, across the head, and even shoving you off the platform at one point.

He gets up in a huff, throwing one of the human “pillows” at your face as you finally start to curb your maniacal giggling. You manage to tone it down to a smirk, putting the pillow in your lap and shrugging with all the innocence of a serpent cuddling with cluckbeast eggs. He throws his arms up in the air and glares at you, finally seeming to be about 500% done with dealing with your hoofbeast shit.

He puts his shirt back on, which you now notice is ripped on both sides. Huh, you wonder how that happened. It hangs off him loosely now, and it looks like he got on the wrong end of a chainsaw. You silently laugh at the deja vu of that statement, because your stomach hurts too much to handle really cracking up like that again. He’s murmuring to himself, something about pissbloods and blue balls needing to be categorized as a form kismesis abuse, and you just shake your head as he starts to stomp out the door.

You call out to him. “Hate you too, ED!”

All you get in response is his pert ass walking away, accompanied by a shameless middle finger being thrown over his shoulder without a single look back, as he slams the door in your face.


End file.
